


Light of the Love

by kashmir



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, fecund
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-05
Updated: 2007-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-08 17:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kashmir/pseuds/kashmir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She's a wildcat, loose and untamed and makes John feel drunk, like he's had too much heady tequila or whiskey.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light of the Love

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-ed by [](http://arabella-hope.livejournal.com/profile)[**arabella_hope**](http://arabella-hope.livejournal.com/). This is all [](http://vinylroad.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://vinylroad.livejournal.com/)**vinylroad**'s fault.

She has the type of car that most men dream about; beautiful, sleek, scorching. She just rolls it into the garage one day, shuts off the engine, and walks into the office. John thinks she's a lot like her car; he's always thought that you could tell a lot about a person by the car they drive, the way they take care of it. She's an Impala, through and through.

He loves the way she frowns when Charlie gives her the standard chauvinistic bullshit _Uh, did you check the oil honey?_ and she tells him that she's not a fucking idiot and that she thinks it's the transmission links and if he doesn't want to be bothered doing his job, she'd be happy to take her business elsewhere. John laughs and strolls up to her, extends a hand and tells her that he'd be happy to take a look for her.

She shakes his hand, even though her hand is milky white and soft, while his is rough and covered in grease. When she smiles, he melts a bit. John Winchester always was a sucker for a pretty lady with a pretty car.

So it's not surprising he's still dating her five months later. She's different from any other girl - _woman_ \- he's ever met and he can't get enough of her. She's got a degree in English from the University of Kansas and works in a tiny hole-in-the-wall record store in downtown Lawrence. There are about four milk grates scattered around John's tiny apartment now, holding recommendations from Mary and he thinks he's probably spent at least a month's worth of pay in that place on records he doesn't care for but Mary loves. John just can't help himself, lives for the moments where her eyes light up from within when that tiny bell tinkles overhead as he walks inside the dim interior of the store.

She's a wildcat, loose and untamed and makes John feel drunk, like he's had too much heady tequila or whiskey. She smokes pot out of a purple bong, wearing only his work shirt from the day before and a smart-ass grin, sitting on his threadbare couch. Goes braless most of the time, her breasts perky and firm underneath whatever rock band tee she's sporting that day. Slept with him in the third date, climbed him like a damn tree in the backseat of that beast of a car of hers, Robert Plant wailing and moaning from the speakers.

John's always walked the straight and narrow, had a strict Methodist upbringing, corn-fed and wholesome in rural Indiana. In a touch of irony, his parents had both died while he was off in the godforsaken jungle, dodging bullets and watching boys barely out of the school room bleed out right in front of him. He'd enlisted right out of high school and done his tours without complaint. Came home to find the old homestead had been sold and the country's attitude was none too kind towards veterans of a war most didn't believe in anymore. He'd hitchhiked south, a little lost and wound up in Lawrence by chance. By an even greater chance, he'd landed a job in the garage, his natural abilities to just figure out cars paving the way with the old veteran who owned the place.

Two years on and he'd found some friends, a nice little place, formed a niche and then, then he'd met Mary who took everything and turned it topsy-turvy. Half his closet contained her clothes and he'd balked a little the first few times she'd curled up at his side, their bodies slick with sweat even in the cool night air seeping in through the cracked window. She'd just rolled her eyes and lit up a joint, the sickly sweet smoke burning John's nose as she punched his arm and called him a stick in the mud before inhaling deeply, rolling over and pressing her mouth over his, exhaling the acrid smoke directly into his mouth, pulling away with a laugh.

She's loosened him up and turned him inside out and he just wants _more._ All the damn time. Can't ever get enough of her; her smile, her laugh, the wicked glint she gets in her eyes when she looks at him, the miles and miles of her gorgeous pale skin and the way she makes him feel like the only man in the world as he fucks her wide open on his cock.

Which is why he doesn't protest when she makes him pull over after a dinner celebrating their sixth month anniversary and park in some secluded, wooded area. She smiles over at him across the wide expanse of the seat, eyes alight with mischief as she beckons him into the backseat with a flash of rounded thigh and a crooked finger. He scrambles back after her, already working his tie loose and she laughs, long and low as she unbuttons the tiny white buttons holding her lemon-yellow dress closed. John's eyes had about fallen out of his head when she'd shown up at his place earlier, make up slicked on her eyes, heels complimenting her gorgeous legs and an airy dress floating across her generous curves.

He lunges for her as soon as his shirt is gone, slung haphazardly over the front seat and she giggles as he starts sucking kisses on the skin of her neck, the top of her dress gaping open, revealing white lace and delicate skin. His rough hands dip under her bra, find her tight little nipples all drawn up for him. She moans and then bends forward, licks at his lips for a moment before she pushes him back against the seat and straddles him, tongue caught between her front teeth. John can do little but sit there and pant, his hands stroking slowly up and down over her thighs, pushing her dress up a little further with each pass.

She gets his belt undone and his pants a moment after, smirking up at him as she lifts her dress up in one hand, the other wrapping tight around his cock, revealing nothing but her - no underwear, nothing. John whines, feels his cock jump in her hand at the knowledge that she's been fucking _bare_ under that dress all night at the quaint little Italian joint they'd eaten at, complete with checkered table clothes and candles melted on top of old Chianti bottles.

Mary lets out a laugh and then just settles down and back, letting him slide inside of her, all slick and easy and John wants to fucking die, it feels so fucking good, every damn time. John presses his head back into the leather and groans out her name, knocking another laugh out of her as she starts to rock her hips, her hands knotted up in fists on his shoulders, knuckles digging in deep as she balances. He brings up heavy hands, grasps at her full hips as they roll over him, his fingers pressing into the ample flesh, sure to bruise.

She laughs again, tosses her head back and rides him, her cunt rippling around him, her wet slicking her inner thighs and his stomach. He's helpless beneath her, unable to do anything, just sits there and lets her use him. His teeth are clenched as he watches her own hands cup her breast, fingers pinching a tight little nipple, sharp teeth turning her lower lip to white as her rhythm shifts, becomes erratic. John can only watch in awe as she slides the same hand that had been on her breast down over her gently rounded stomach, down between her legs, her fingers viciously rubbing at her own clit.

John loses it seconds after he hears Mary call his name, voice high and sweet, pussy clenching tight around him. He spurts wet and hot inside of her, teeth biting through his own lip. She collapses against him, burying her face in his neck, rubbing against him like a sleepy cat. His pants are around his ankles, he can feel his own come leaking out of her, pooling between them and she's disheveled, hair a wild cloud around her face.

John can't ever remember loving her more in that moment. Looking back, he realizes it was fitting that that had been the night they'd conceived Dean - and that Zeppelin is his favorite band. Boy always did take after his mother.

...

Five years on and he's still as head over heels for her as he was the first day he met her. She's a bit softer now, her rough edges soothed a bit when Dean came but deep down, she's still the same girl he feel in love with. Still wears rock tees around the house, sings Zeppelin to Dean in place of ordinary lullabies, still has the occasional hit off of the old bong she keeps in their closet.

Still enjoys sex as much or more than before they were married, before Dean and the house and a mortgage payment.

Loves getting as much as she loves giving it. Loves to hold him down as much as she likes to be held down. Which is what he's doing now, holding her down, fucking into her but trying to be quiet, hyper-aware of Dean asleep in his brand-new 'big boy' bed down the hall. All too cognizant of how often he wanders into their room to sleep between mommy and daddy.

That is, until, Mary rolls her hips into him, clenching her cunt around him, smirking when his pelvis hitches into her, hard. He growls and pins her wide open with his hips and hands, fucking into her ruthlessly, all thoughts evaporating.

He bends down, rubs his beard-roughened jaw against her neck, smiling at her tiny inhale at the movement. His hips are unrelenting, keeping a deep and hard pace, the dull smack of skin against skin overlaying her tiny whimpers and his own panting breaths. He bites at her neck when she arches again, hard enough to bruise and pulls back, hand tugging on her hair a bit cruelly.

"God, yeah, that's it," he gets out, voice gravel-rough and low. "Fucking take my cock, come on yeah, that's it girl. Fuck, take it, _take it_."

Her eyes pop open, wide and glassy as she whimpers his name. He starts to thrust harder, her pussy clenching even tighter and tighter around him with every movement of his pelvis, every word falling from his lips.

"Mmm, girl, still so tight around my cock, aren't you? Yeah, fucking love my cock, don't you? Love my come, too, hmm? Want my come, want me to fill you up?" he asks, watching a flush spread across her round breasts.

"Unh, god, gonna, gonna fuck you pregnant, you want that?" John watches as her eyes roll wildly and she arches, rippling around him. "Oh, you like that, huh? Want my come, huh? Want me to fill you all up, so goddamn full?"

She starts calling his name, voice loud in the quiet of the late night and he quickly covers her mouth with his large hand, hips snapping harder against her when she bites at the soft fleshy mound beneath his thumb before soothing it with her tongue. He stops thrusting and she whines, fucking whines as he pulls out before rolling her over until her gorgeous ass is thrust up in the air. He moans her name as he thrusts inside of her, his tan hands dark against the lily white flesh of her hips. She whimpers into the pillow as he starts to fuck her in earnest.

"Yeah, hmm, want my come, do you? Want me to, to give it to you? Gonna fill you up, make you pregnant, girl. 'S that what you want?" He keeps up a steady litany; feels her losing it beneath him as her orgasm crests over her. She shudders and cries out his name, muffled as she comes in deep, wracking shudders, milking his cock. John thrusts once, hard, and then spills inside of her, shooting hot and wet as he grinds against the fleshiness of her ass.

He pulls out and flops down on his back, sweaty and breathing like a race horse coming down the home stretch. Mary rolls onto her side, features still wearing the blush of her orgasm as she smiles at him in the dark. John wraps an arm around her, pulling her in tight as she slings a leg over his. Bends down and kisses her mouth, wet and messy, groaning when he feels his own come oozing out of her against his thigh.

When they pull apart, she's still smiling.

"Think it took that time?" Mary asks, hand idly playing with his chest hair. John huffs out a short bark of laughter.

"Sure hope so. Too many nights like this and you'll kill me woman." Mary giggles at that and presses closer.

It had, in fact, taken, and Mary's belly grew big and round during the next few months. Dean would press his tiny hands upon her stomach, eyes wide with wonder, and the two of them would whisper secrets. Told Sam how much Dean wanted his little brother to come out and play, how excited they were, how much they already loved him.

Years later, John knew that though so much in their lives had changed, that fact would always be true.


End file.
